


Bioshock Prompts and Shorts

by ApocalypticRepo



Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games)
Genre: Because I searched through my tumblr and found them all, F/F, F/M, Series of prompts and one shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 7,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25213225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApocalypticRepo/pseuds/ApocalypticRepo
Summary: I went through and slowly deleted my entire Tumblr archive, finding my old works and I'm rewriting them and uploading them here. Some are explicit. Some are murderous. Some are interesting. Enjoy!All are from the same world as my See All Evil story. Go read if you have the chance! I promise it's worth it!If you want more, feel free to send me some if you're interested.
Relationships: Frank Fontaine/Original Female, Frank Fontaine/Original Female Character(s), J.S. Steinman/Original Female Characters, Original Female Character(s)/Original Female Character(s), Original Female Characters/Original Female Characters
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Let Slumbering Birds Lie

Camille paused in the doorway of Sinclair’s office.

Sinclair was out of the office, but _she_ was there, lounging on the couch and appeared to be snoozing.

Camille thought for a moment, contemplating just returning to her office to await Sinclair’s return, before continuing her way toward Sinclair’s desk and setting the latest financial report upon it, placing it in a way that he'd find it quickly.

Turning on her heel, her attention returned to the spy.

From the rise and fall of her chest, she appeared to indeed be sleeping, so Camille dared to approach so that she may get a closer look at the infamous Hawkeye that kept Sinclair so well informed.

The bane of Camille’s existence.

Her lips twisted in distaste at the spy, wondering what made her so special? What was it about this duct-rat that made Sinclair so protective of her? He wouldn’t even allow the two to be in the same room for long periods of time, much less time to exchange a few words. He wouldn’t give her any information either, even after that night she came to his door drunk and upset over her tape.

Hawkeye’s skin was incredibly pale (the same as most that lived in Rapture) and decorated with numerous scars that made Camille curious about each one. One caught her eye – one that appeared to be the oldest and one of the longest. It must have healed poorly since it was so thick and followed her jaw for nearly 3 inches.

She wondered how Hawkeye got it.

Her features were angular and sharp that reminded her of a bird. Camille mused that Hawkeye was a fitting name after all.

Her eyes drifted over to her arm where the sleeve rode up just enough to see the “S” of the carving Sullivan gave her. It was still healing – scabbed and forming scar tissue. It’d be with her for the rest of her life unless she fixed it with ADAM, but she made her feelings clear about the stuff during their quiet walk to the spy's apartment.

Camille’s fingers twitched and, slowly, she reached out toward the arm.

Her fingers barely brushed the sleeve when Hawkeye’s hand shot up and grabbed her wrist harshly, nails threatening to dig in. She barely had time to gasp from the surprise when the air in her lungs disappeared from the impact of her back slamming into the floor and she was vaguely aware of a knife pressed against her neck.

 _She smelled vanilla?_ Her face felt warm when she looked into her sharp, blue eyes that glared at her before the fight-or-flight instinct vanished and recognition came to them.

“A-Adler?” Hawkeye stuttered.

She shot up and took a few steps back from Camille. “Sorry,” Hawkeye apologized. She appeared to almost trip over her feet in a rush to the desk. She made it look so easy to jump from the floor to the surface of the desk - years of practice Camille mused. She reached up and moved a vent panel away. “Courtesy warning: don’t wake me like that. I’m jumpy.”

“Understatement of the year,” Camille shot back at her once her breathing returned to normal.

Hawkeye leaped up into the vent and disappeared from sight. She didn’t even hear the metal creak.

The door to the office opened, and Sinclair stepped through. “Ah! Miss Camille, are you alright?” He exclaimed, helping her stand.

She smoothed her skirt down and grimaced. “Yes. Just a little winded. Your _spy_ sure is something.”

The smile Sinclair gave was _strange_. Then again, the heat in her cheeks refused to go away.


	2. Anniversary Dinner

The reservations were set - dinner at 7 pm at Jamie’s favorite restaurant or at least the restaurant that she didn’t get extremely uncomfortable at.

He had bought a new suit for the occasion - an Italian designer made suit with notched lapels, classic pockets and finished with a dark wash that paired well with a crisp white shirt and silk tie.

Silvered hair gelled into placed that really didn’t reflect today’s styles, but he knew it’s what looked good on him even with his old age. At least Jamie liked the way he looked. Wrinkled eyes told a story that he would take with him to the grave. Not even his daughter knew what happened to him and her mother.

He glanced up when he heard the front door open and the small chime of, “Dad!”

Augustus smiled and exited the bedroom, walking down the stairs to greet his daughter in the living room. “Hey, honey,” he greeted, kissing her cheek and hugging her tight. “How’ve you been?”

“Good, good,” Grace answered. “I just stopped by to see if you needed anything for tonight.”

“No, I’ve got everything set.”

She smiled and smoothed her hand over her father’s suit. “Have fun tonight, okay? It’s your anniversary.”

“As much fun as your mother will let me.”

She giggled and hugged him again.

She reminded him just how old he was, being married to a man named Mark Davis with whom she had a son that she named Garrett, after Jamie’s grandfather. She worked as a successful detective working for Scotland Yard, using her mother’s ever watchful eye and ability to see the truth in the evidence.

He was so proud of her.

She left to go home to her family not long after, leaving Augustus alone.

He glanced at the clock and saw it was almost 6:30 in the evening. He checked himself once more in the mirror and walked out to his car.

The drive was silent, he kept glancing over expecting a passenger but the seat was empty. He took a deep breath and focused on the road, surprisingly clear despite the usual weather of Whitby.

He smiled when he pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant. The staff greeted him and escorted him to his table. Jamie would like the decorations, she always loved Christmas time. They never really had the chance to celebrate it in Rapture - “No gods, or kings, only Man”.

“Can I get you something to drink, Mr. Sinclair?” his waitress asked politely.

“Yes. Some champagne. It’s mine an’ my wife’s anniversary. The best bottle you got,” he flashed his thousand dollar smile and she bowed her head with a smile as well. Contagious as always.

He knew that his waitress knew it was their anniversary - he had seen her before and gave her the same spiel, but it made him feel better saying it.

When she returned with the champagne, he ordered a juicy steak and fries which she quickly left to go tell the chef. He picked up the flute of champagne and watched it fizzle and bubble for just a moment before sampling it for taste.

Setting the flute down, he reached into his pocket to withdraw his wallet.

Inside was a small picture book with memories of his family: his and Jamie’s wedding day (Grace balanced on her hip only a year old), a picture of Grace’s wide grin showing her missing front tooth, a formal picture taken of him, Jamie, and Grace together. The last was just a picture of Jamie sitting on a blanket on the ground, brushing her hair back when the wind disheveled it and smiling.

_Don’t you have better things to do than take pictures of me?_

He rested the picture up against the little vase with a single flower in the middle of the table. Swallowing hard to hold his tears back, he lifted his flute in a toast. “Happy anniversary, darlin’. I miss you so much.”

He took a long drink and quietly cried.

She wasn’t supposed to die before him.


	3. Back Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I remember CaliforniaStop (Gigi) gave me this prompt. Don't remember what the exact wording was.

Jamie shifted in her sleep and suddenly became aware of the lack of warmth against her back. Turning over to where Augustus usually slept, she found it empty. “Augustus?” she called out only to get no answer in return.

She furrowed her brows and slipped out of bed, shivering as the cold air nipped at her naked flesh. She pulled a robe on and exited their shared room, looking for where the man had gone. “Augustus?” she lightly called out again, careful to not disturb the sleeping five year old in the room to her right.

The light in the loo was on. She knocked once and slowly opened the door. Augustus was leaning over the sink with his face scrunched up in pain, a hand pressed firmly against his lower back trying massage it. “Honey? What’s wrong?” She asked, slipping in behind him.

Augustus smiled sheepishly and answered, “My back is killing me. Sorry to worry you.”

“Your back?” she giggled, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“I’m not as young as I used to be, darlin’,” Augustus retorted, sighing as Jamie replaced his hand in massaging his back.

“Are you actually admitting that you’re getting old?”

It was true though. He was almost 60 while she was barely breaking 40. She always forgot that he was 20 years her senior and he showed it. From the boxes of hair dye in the bathroom waste bin to the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes, but she had to admit he was aging well.

Augustus chuckled and turned around to face her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in tight. “Well, luckily for me I’ve gotta beautiful _young_ wife to help this old man, right? Maybe she could be so kind as to massage this creaky back for me.”

Jamie smiled and leaned up, kissing him. “I’m sure I can manage that.”


	4. Up the Duff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another prompt from Gigi because she is a bad, bad person.

Shit, shit, _shit_ , shit, **shit** , shit, shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitSHIT! I ran a hand through my hair, staring at the offending paper clenched in my hand. Patrick suggested I go see a doctor to figure out why I was sick and for once I agreed. Now I wish I never went.

_Your test results reveal that you are **pregnant**. Congratulations. Your next appointment will be-_

I didn’t finish reading the rest of the paper. I wanted to scream. Pregnant. In this godforsaken hellhole of a city. I slept with Sinclair ONCE! And now I was having his child.

Patrick, dear sweet Patrick, knelt before me and took the crumpled paper from my hand and carefully smoothed it out to read the results. Then his face lit up with pure delight. “I’m gonna be a big brother?!” He exclaimed grinning like he had just won a prize. “Ma, you’re pregnant!”

I flinched again. “Pregnant. Oh my god,” I muttered, gripping to strands of my hair in a desperate attempt to anchor myself to reality. “I’m _pregnant_. That doesn’t happen to people like me!”

Patrick cocked an eyebrow at the phrase. “People like you? What do you mean?”

“A duct rat.”

Patrick shook his head and sat beside me. “You’re a good mom. I mean, I haven’t died yet.”

I rolled my eyes and hooked my arm around his neck, drawing him in for a hug.

There was one thing I had to do before I could figure out anything: tell Augustus Sinclair he’s going to be a father.

My stomach dropped at the thought of telling Augustus. I mean, he’s twenty years my senior and never had children to speak of (that I know of. He could have left behind one on the Surface for all I knew). Now I was pregnant. His lover for lack of a better term for what we are.

I still had to tell him, regardless of his reaction.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with?” Patrick asked, standing by the door waiting for me to finish putting my shoes on.

“I’m sure. This is something I have to do myself.” I stood up and took a deep breath to calm my nerves.

I wanted Patrick to come with, but if this ended badly, I didn’t want him to bare witness to it.

Augustus was in his office like I knew he was, cigarette balanced between his teeth signing some paperwork for one of his many businesses. “Augustus?” I called, catching his attention.

“You’re usin’ the door. Are you okay?”

I carefully closed the door behind me, wringing my hands. “We need to talk.” I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as my hands started to sweat.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Everythin’ alright, darlin’?”

He set his paperwork down giving me his full attention. “Depends,” I answered, now standing in front of his desk.

He stood from his chair and leaned over his desk. “Just tell me, Jamie.”

I swallowed hard and just blurted it out, “I’m pregnant.”

It fell deathly silent as he blinked rapidly, processing what I just told him. “You’re… pregnant?”

I nodded. “You’re going to be a father.”

He rounded the desk slowly, his eyes falling to my abdomen and staying there. I shifted nervously where I stood. I flinched when he placed his hands over the nonexistent bump that would grow in a few months. “I’m going to be a father,” he repeated before he grinned wide. “I’m going to be a father!”

He swept me up in a tight hug, kissing the side of my head repeatedly. I relaxed into his arms and smiled - this was the hardest part, now it was smooth sailing.


	5. Dance with Me

Jamie stood by the grand window in Sinclair’s office, watching schools of fish, whales and sharks swim by like the city didn’t exist. She supposed the city did act like a giant, industrialized reef which made it a perfect home for all sorts of species. “Atlas has been on the move a lot more now,” she reported. “Fontaine’s stock piles of weapons and ammunition have frequently disappeared from lockup. I do believe Atlas’ followers have reached Ryan’s Private Forces.”

Sinclair hummed with acknowledgment, writing out what she said. The radio crooned a song by the Ink Spots that brought flashbacks to _that_ night a few months prior. Before Atlas’ New Years Eve attack. After her fateful night with Sullivan.

“Dance with me.”

She glanced over at Sinclair. “What?”

“Dance with me,” he repeated, standing up from his desk. “We haven’t danced in a long while and I want to dance with you.”

Jamie rolled her eyes but relented, allowing Sinclair to pull her close. For just a moment, she saw the bandages that previously covered her arms, the phantom pain that ached her skin and bones.

Sinclair made the memories disappear when he kissed her firm on the mouth. She sighed contently and wrapped her arms around his neck. They parted and kept their foreheads pressed together, rocking and slowly spinning to the music.

“Why are you so good to me?” Jamie asked, gazing into his eyes seeking an answer.

He dipped her making her chuckle in delight. “Because you deserve it.”

She glanced up when a noise came from the vent - metal denting outward, but not by much meaning it was someone small crawling through the vent. “Hello Patrick,” Jamie greeted as the boy removed the grate of the vent.

“‘ello ma!” He carefully slipped through the opening, landing on Sinclair’s desk.

Jamie spread from Sinclair and helped the boy down from his desk. Patrick quickly seated himself on the couch and sprawled out. Poor thing was exhausted.

Silence befell them again listening to the radio croon on with songs both recorded on the Surface and songs recorded in Rapture. Patrick eventually dozed off, lightly snoring against the armrest. Jamie smiled and smoothed his disheveled hair fondly.

“You make a good mother, Jamie,” Sinclair commented, smiling fondly.

She shrugged. “Never knew I had it in me.”

“Shame we never finished our dance though.”

Jamie smiled and responded, “We’ll just have to plan something soon.” Sinclair nodded and wandered back over to his desk to finish his paperwork.


	6. A Quiet Touch

Jamie couldn’t help the goosebumps that followed his fingers as they trailed her scarred skin. She shifted for a moment so she comfortably laid between his legs, using his chest as a backrest and then let him continue his exploration of her body with just the tips of his fingers.

Down her shoulders to the crook of her arm, to her wrist, then back all the while goosebumps followed in tandem. She sighed contently, unbelieving of how _good_ it felt.

They trailed down her chest making her stiffen for just a second, but they kept going, down to her stomach where they circled her navel. She relaxed again, letting the calming feeling of his touch rush into her core.

Sinclair always confused her - he could easily get any dame to come to bed with him with a smile and nothing to offer other than being Sinclair’s girl for the night. But with Jamie, he took his time, never pushed or prodded, never demanded sex from her, always let her initiate. Let her stay in control.

A man like him could easily get anyone else, but he chose to commit to her.

She sighed again when his fingers danced over her thigh before stopping - as far as he could reach. Then he traveled back up from the other side of her body.

“Tired?” he asked.

She nodded lazily, but she didn’t want him to stop because she was tired. He kissed her neck before nudging her over. “Roll on to your stomach,” He lightly ordered and she obeyed.

She tucked her arms under her pillow and sunk into it. Jamie almost started to moan when his fingers fell to her back. Sinclair chuckled and she paled: she did moan when his fingers got to her lower back. “No need to be embarrassed, darlin’.”

Jamie blushed and stuffed her face into her pillow willing herself to relax again.

It wasn’t long before she dozed off to the feeling of his fingers touching skin that hadn’t been touched lovingly in years.


	7. Valentine's Day

I bit my lip and pulled at the hem of my sundress. Augustus picked it out after he and Camille went shopping the day prior ( _”Camille kept trying to get me to buy some sleek, sexy little thing, but I insisted that you’d kill me for buying it.” Camille was completely unashamed._ ).

Camille and James had already left earlier that afternoon to board a train to London for their Valentine’s Day date. Grace was in the care of my grandparents and I was alone in the house, waiting for Augustus to finish whatever he was planning to do.

I looked at myself in the full-body mirror, lightly tracing various scars that littered my body. I had filled out in the half-year we’ve been on the Surface, tanned a bit and grew out my hair again. Little things to help the healing, help the habits that really do die hard.

Augustus opened the door to our bedroom and leaned against the door frame. “You look beautiful, darlin’,” he said.

I blushed more like a teenager than the almost 40-year-old woman I am. He held out his arm and I quickly took it, allowing him to lead me out of the bedroom.

I expected him to lead me to the car, but instead he led me out the back door.

It didn’t take long for me to notice the plethora of candles surrounding a blanket spread out on the ground.

A plate of cheesecake and dessert wine (the only kind I can stand) sat in a basket, along with a small box wrapped in pink paper. I bit my lip again, glancing up at Augustus.

“Shall we?” He grinned when I nodded.

He was quick to slice up the cheesecake, drizzle it in strawberries and its juices, almost dropping a slice when he moved it to a ceramic dessert plate. We ate in comfortable silence, gazing up at the setting sun.

“Thank you, Augustus,” I damn near purred.

He set his plate aside and chided, “Not finished yet, Jamie.”

He plucked the small box out of the basket and placed it on my lap. He waited expectantly as I picked it up and pulled the wrapping paper off.

A dark blue box? I sideways-glanced at him before flipping the lid up: a ring with a silver band and a sapphire sticking out. The band had small diamonds embedded in the metal circling out from the sapphire.

I looked up at him amazed. “Augustus... you shouldn’t have-”

He shook his head. “Only the best for my wife. I told you I’d get you a ring to make it official.”

“I thought it was official when we signed the document?”

“I’m American, sweetheart. Men are supposed ta get their intended a weddin' ring worth at least three paychecks. I cut some corners to get this to you on time, but I say it’s worth it. I even got a matching gold ring for myself.”

I shook my head and slid the ring on without argument. I scooted closer on the blanket and laid my head on his shoulder. “Happy Valentine’s Day, love,” I muttered.


	8. Violent Kiss Between Rivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This originally was a kiss prompt between OCs. Gigi did hers first which resulted in Camille biting Jamie's lip. This was my response.

That son of a bitch!

I dabbed at my swollen lip where Camille fucking bit me. I didn’t care about the lip, I just wanted to know what kind of person just randomly kisses the person they hate for the sole purpose of biting their damn lip!

Keeping a glaring eye on the assaulter, I walked to a nearby table and swiped up a napkin to wipe the remainder of the lipstick off. If she wanted to make a point: she made one, but she made the wrong one. “ _I hope you’re far more responsive with Sinclair. I don’t know that he’d_ appreciate _that kind of reaction_.”

How dare she? I crumpled up the napkin and tossed it back on the table. Camille was forever a royal pain in my ass and this just solidified it.

“You want a fuckin’ reaction? Fine, you’re going to get a fuckin’ reaction.”

Sinclair shook hands with one of his employees and wandered back over to where I stood. “Sorry about that. What happened to your lip?”

“I’ll get back to you on that,” I stated, making a B-Line for Camille as the countdown started. **10! 9! 8!**

I tapped her on the shoulder, gaining her attention. **4! 3! 2! 1!** Before she could make a snide comment, I grabbed her hip and the back of her neck, dipped her causing her mask to fall off and kissed her full on the mouth. Her eyes bulged and she grasped my shoulders in fear that I would drop her – the thought came to mind, but no I was not going to drop her.

That’d be too easy. She wanted a reaction out of me and now I was getting a reaction out of her. Two can play at this game, Camille.

For just a second, she responded back.

I pulled her back up with ease, letting her stagger back touching her lips like she was trying to figure out who exactly just kissed her like a lover and what they did with Hawkeye. “If you want to bite my lip, at the very least learn how to kiss better. Maybe that can be your resolutions,” I said as dead-pan as I could.

I walked back to Sinclair before she could retort, tossing a “Happy New Year!” over my shoulder. He stared at me wide-eyed and couldn’t quite form a proper sentence as to what he just witnessed.

She forgets that I was partially raised by a whore – I know how to kiss.


	9. Alternate Universe Fontaine Bullshit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this was a response to another thing Gigi did writing her OC getting with Steinman to sell out Fontaine which horribly backfired and of course, I couldn't resist Camille's favorite babysitter coming to her rescue. Again.

Jamie clenched her teeth, watching Steinman blatantly betray Camille. The woman drove her nuts, but god help her if she let Fontaine do as he pleased. Fontaine rolled up his sleeves as Steinman marched out of the room with permission to go.

Fontaine slammed the door shut and Camille couldn’t help but scream - in fear of Fontaine or out of fear of what he was going to do with her. Perhaps both.

The first backhand sent Camille to the ground and his pointed dress shoe went into her abdomen. Jamie positioned herself above the vent and gently pulled it up. Camille’s screams almost became unbearable as they echoed in the vent. “Hang on…” She muttered under her breath.

She grabbed the edge of the vent and lowered herself down purely by the strength in her arms. She timed her fall with another of Camille’s pain-filled screams and landed without Fontaine turning around.

Inching forward, she flipped her switchblade open and spun it around so it was facing inward. Just a few steps…

Fontaine reached down and grabbed Camille around the throat, pulling her to her feet. Camille pathetically tried to claw at his hands to get him to let go, but it was hopeless. “Cam, you disappoint me. Getting Steinman in on your plan? You make me laugh,” Fontaine boasted, chuckling darkly.

“I’ll give you something to laugh about,” Jamie growled, plunging the blade into his back.

She withdrew and stabbed his back again, then a third, then a fourth.

He finally let go of Camille’s neck, howling in agony. He spun around, trying to use the momentum to backhand Jamie, but she ducked and stabbed the knife up again into his abdomen. She twisted and pulled, gutting the man as he clawed at her arms.

He fell in a heap of blood and organs, gurgling and twitching. “You called yourself the king once. Well, long live the King,” Jamie spat stuffing her knife back into her pocket.

She rushed to Camille’s side and pulled her up, slinging her arm over her shoulder. “Always babysitting you, Cam,” She commented, low and mournful. “Sorry I wasn’t fast enough.”

“Just get me out of here…” Camille grumbled wincing in pain.

“I told you Steinman wouldn’t go for it.”

“Shut up.”

Jamie shook her head and helped the injured woman walk out of the room. Sinclair would know a doctor who could keep the fact that she was still alive a secret. Steinman would get a visit from Jamie soon.


	10. At the End

I could hear Grace crying, holding my hand and rubbing her thumb across my palm. “Don’t cry, honey,” I whispered - all I could manage anymore.

96 years old and a frail, feeble old woman slowly dying in a nursing home was apparently my fate despite _everything_ that happened to me. I could have gave the nurses nightmares, but they were kind to this ornery old woman so I kept the horror stories to myself.

Eleanor stood in the corner head bowed as she tried to hold back her own tears, all that was left of Camille and James Bannock. No longer was she Eleanor Lamb, but Eleanor Bannock having taken James’ last name when the couple adopted her.

I nearly snorted in laughter knowing that I outlived Camille by 5 years. I always thought I was going to be the first to die between the two of us.

I was the only one left who could recite what happened in Rapture from the beginning to the end and that secret would come with me to the grave. Sure, I had several government agencies try and squeeze out Rapture’s location from me or any detail really, but I kept quiet for 50 years. Anyone who cared died a few years ago.

Augustus had been dead for a while now. I always forgot he was 20 years my senior, so when he turned 87 and passed away from a heart disease I was only 67. 29 years I lived without him and god dammit did it hurt. I missed him so much it broke my heart every time his birthday rolled around and Grace and I would make a trip to the family plot.

Now it was my turn.

“Mom?” Grace called out. I didn’t realize I had zoned out.

“Sorry, honey.”

I knew nothing I could say would make her feel better. My strength was waning and death was mere moments away. I smiled and squeezed her hand before closing my eyes and letting the sweet embrace of death take me.

I felt nothing until I felt a small kiss on my cheek and I opened my eyes again.

“Hello darlin’.”

I inhaled sharply and my bottom lip quivered.

He looked the way he did when we first met, but healthier and there was less gray. His green eyes sparkled again filled with the love I missed for almost thirty years.

“Augustus,” I whispered before throwing my arms around his neck.

He kissed my cheek again and hugged me just as tight.


	11. Camille/Jamie smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I... don't remember what started this. I know Gigi sent me a written portion of this in the mail which I still have on my desk because why not so you'll never get to see that, but enjoy this not greatly written sex. I'm still not good at writing sex scenes.

Jamie found Camille in Augustus’s apartment – sitting on Sinclair’s shark-leather loveseat and drowning her sorrows with some drink Jamie couldn’t name for the life of her. Her makeup was smeared from her wiping her eyes with her gloved fingers, smearing makeup all over the material. She really was taking this hard.

She sat down beside the distraught woman, leaning back in her seat. “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth,” she said.

“Why do you care? You called me pathetic for my _infatuation_ with him.” She sniffed pitifully and took another long swig of her drink.

Jamie shrugged. “Because even you don’t deserve a broken heart.”

Camille scoffed, “When did you get soft? I thought you didn’t have emotions.”

Jamie reached out and took Camille’s drink from her with surprisingly little resistance. She thought for sure that she’d lose the hand. “Who knows when I got this soft spot? Maybe it’s because I get attached to people I sleep with. Attached enough to not want to see them hurt.” She dared to brush elbows with Camille, who didn’t move.

Camille’s brows nearly knitted together. “Are you… Are you serious? Are you saying you care about me?”

“More than I really should. I’m not saying I’m in love with you because that’s the farthest from the truth. But it would pain me to see you unhappy. You don’t have to do anything with this information, but know that mine and Augustus’s door is always open to you.”

Jamie almost jerked when Camille hooked her arm through Jamie’s and rested her head on the spy’s shoulder. Almost. “Thanks,” came her meek reply.

Camille suddenly shifted and straddled the spy, resting her hands on Jamie’s shoulders. Instinctively, Jamie placed her hands on Camille’s hips. “Show me you care.”

Jamie slipped her hand behind Camille’s neck and pulled her in for a kiss – tender and gentle. Camille ground her hips against Jamie’s for some friction, but Jamie’s other hand held her still, earning a whine. “Relax. Just enjoy this,” Jamie whispered, nipping at Camille’s neck. “Let me care for you.”

Jamie peeled the gloves from Camille’s arms, kissing the exposed skin as it was revealed. She pulled the zipper of Camille’s dress, pushing the dress down around her waist. She stood up and let the dress pool around her feet. Jamie stood as well and pushed Camille on to the couch.

Disposing of Camille’s undergarments, she spread Camille’s legs giving her a full view of her beautiful pussy, already aching for _something_. She contemplated for a moment teasing her after the last time they were together, but decided against it. Instead, she bent down and gave a long lick, earning a plethora of lewd noises from Camille. She pressed her mouth full against Cam’s pussy and pinned her hips to the couch so she couldn’t buck into Jamie’s mouth.

Jamie licked earnestly, sucked on her clit, and twirled the little nub with her tongue – earning curses and lewd noises which only encouraged her. Camille’s legs tightened around her head, holding her close and pressing her face harder into her cunt. Her fingers buried themselves in dark brunette hair, holding Jamie’s head down.

She was surprised that Jamie already knew how to make her moan so easily, after only sleeping together a handful of times. Jamie’s nimble fingers slipped inside her cunt, finding her sensitive nerves with little trouble. “Already so wet for me,” Jamie teased, finger fucking her into a quivering mess.

“….fuck me,” Camille gasped. “I know you still have the dildo. Please, Jamie, fuck me.”

“Let’s take this to the bedroom then,” Jamie stated, pulling Camille up with her.

Jamie hooked her hands under Camille’s ass, forcing the woman to wrap her legs around her waist. Camille wrapped her arms around Jamie’s neck and kissed her hard as the spy went on pure instinct to get them to the bedroom.

Gentle being the theme, Jamie laid Camille down on the bed, kissing her again, before she rummaged around in the bedside table for the strap-on Camille had purchased from Cupid’s Arrow.

Quickly putting it on, she rubbed the tip and shaft against Camille’s soaked cunt. “Please,” Camille begged.

Jamie smiled and pulled Camille’s legs around her waist, plunging the cock deep inside her. Camille clung to her, holding her almost painfully tight. Jamie kept a steady pace, pinning Camille to the bed so she couldn’t move.

Sweat dotted her forehead as she fucked Camille, thinking for a brief moment how they got into this position, but decided not to question Fate. She found that Fate was a mysterious mistress who didn’t care who benefitted, it just so happened that Jamie, for once, was benefitting.

Camille bit down on Jamie’s shoulder as she came, trying to arch into Jamie for more friction, but she held her down, fucking her through her orgasm. She stopped before another could slip out, earning a loud whine from Camille.

Camille jerked on Jamie’s hair in retaliation. She started up her pace again, nipping at Camille’s neck and breasts, bending and sucking on her nipples. Camille’s second orgasm came quick, nails digging into her back and legs pulling her in flush.

Jamie withdrew and disposed of the strap-on, settling in beside Camille’s exhausted form. She pulled the covers over them and pulled Camille against her side. “So,” she muttered, “do I care?”

“Thoroughly.”

Camille nuzzled into her chest and drifted off to sleep near instantly. Jamie smiled and brushed away the hair plastered to Camille’s sweaty forehead. She kissed her forehead and settled in for the night.

Gazing at Camille one last time, she whispered, “Maybe I love you.”

Sinclair came home an hour later, mildly surprised to find Camille and Jamie in bed together, spooning no less having shifted during their sleep. He stripped quietly and slipped in behind Jamie, wrapping his arms around her and Camille. They smelled like sweat and that made him mildly jealous – sex without him?

He’ll have to remedy that.


	12. Journey to the Surface

**1956**

“This is stupid,” Jamie complained, crossing her arms while they stood in line with the other busybodies Ryan invited for the _grand opening of Journey to the Surface_.

Of course Ryan wanted to scare people into preventing them from going to the surface. Why Sinclair wanted to drag her alone was beyond her imagining. She liked the original design of this ride of animals and whatnot - not that she’d admit it.

Sinclair chuckled at her agitation. “What? I can’t take my girl out for a good time?” He joked, thumbing the tickets to the ride.

“Because I’m not ‘your girl’. Tell me again _why_ I’m coming along and don’t give me that crap from before.” She glared up at the man hell bent on making her life miserable.

Sinclair’s grin only got bigger. “Because I sure am not sittin’ alone on this.“

“Then get one of those floozies you had before.” She tried to walk out of the line, but Sinclair grabbed her shoulder with a plea, “Please stay?”

She rolled her eyes and sighed in defeat, joining him back in line. The higher class woman behind them whispered to her husband like she had stumbled upon a scandal. Not like the night at the Kashmir wasn’t much to cause a stir among the high class and Sinclair’s various former dates. She still wasn’t happy about the newspaper article.

They were next and they were loaded into smaller replicas of the bathyspheres that lacked the window. The safety bar was lowered and away they went. Andrew Ryan’s voice spilled over the radio rambling on about the surface and the corrupt government _dragging your sons off to war!_ Annoying.

She leaned against the side of the bathysphere, bored out of her mind. A hand fell from the ceiling in the final display, making it look like it was going to grab the bathysphere. Sinclair jumped and exclaimed, “Whoa! That came outta no where!”

“It was on the ceiling. You were actually paying attention to the displays?” She cocked an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged. “Where else was I going to look? Straight ahead?”

She shook her head and went back to leaning against the wall of the bathysphere.

The ride came to an end and Sinclair stepped off first. What surprised her was when he turned around and held his hand out for her. The look of expectancy made her take his hand and allow him to assist her off the ride.

It took everything she had to force down the blush.

They left Ryan Amusements and headed toward the Metro Station, she wanting to go home as soon as possible. “Thank you, darlin’,” Sinclair spoke.

“For what?”

“For bein’ my date.” He made it seem like it was obvious. He took her hand and gave her knuckles a light peck. She was unable to stop the blush this time which he saw plain as day. “So you do like me!” She glared at him and pulled her hand away.

“This is ridiculous,” She grumbled, getting on the bathysphere. She silently cursed the American.


	13. Surface Bliss

Grace tugged me forward, giggling and chattering. The numerous shops and cafés were bustling with people on a shockingly clear day for Whitby. Being near the coast usually meant fog and constant rainfall, but the nice warm weather lured even the fishermen into the stores. “C’mon mum!” She cheered. “We ‘ave to find daddy the bestest present in the world!” I smiled letting her lead me.

Yes, it was Augustus’ birthday and Grace insisted and finding ‘the bestest present in the world’, but the problem was what to find him. Sinclair wasn’t the easiest to shop for since if he wanted something, he’d just get himself. Grace was adamant though rushing us through the streets. This day was coordinated and executed by a six year old and I was perfectly fine with that.

Despite being married for 6 years, I was useless when it came to finding gifts for Augustus. When we were still in Rapture, we never celebrated our birthdays. On the surface, people were astonished that we didn’t and to appear normal, we took up celebrating them, also taking up the holidays from both American and the UK. Religion still wasn’t on the table which baffled a lot of people who come to ‘convert us’ into their various religions. Mostly the Jehovah’s Witnesses knocking on our door and annoying us.

Acclimation hadn’t been easy.

Grace rambled off different presents that she wanted to get Augustus before stopping in her tracks. “What does daddy want for his birthday?” She questioned, looking up at me with her wide green eyes.

“You’re guess is as good as mine, sweet'eart. I’m sure whatever you get for ‘im, daddy will love it.” She groaned and her shoulders slumped. You and me both.

We continued walking the storefronts, stopping briefly for lunch. Grace hummed to herself, swinging her legs back and forth since her legs couldn’t quite reach the ground. “Any ideas yet?” I asked.

She looked around for a second before pointing to a tailor shop. “Let’s go there!”

“To a tailor?”

She nodded. “Daddy wears suits a lot!” I smiled at the simple logic.

The clerk greeted us and gave the regular, “If you need any help, let me know!”

I followed my daughter around through the different racks and displays containing different prints and styles of waistcoats, overcoats and the like. Grace didn’t pay attention to any of the suits and immediately turned her attention to a display of neckties and bow ties, including a few novelty ones.

“That one!” She declared, pointing a small finger to a necktie decorated in stars and planets. I plucked it off the rack and handed it to her. She grinned and looked up at me. “Now you pick one!”

I looked at the rack then back at Grace. “Why don’t you pick one for me?”

She shook her head rapidly. “No, you ‘ave to pick it.”

I sighed and selected a plain silk red tie, but Grace frowned. “That’s borin’!” I shook my head and put it back in favor of a cat print tie. “Perfect!” She declared, finding my choice acceptable.

I purchased the neckties and Grace and I carried our gifts home.


	14. Aren't You Going to Kiss Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was prompted by a gif that had the same phrase on it. It was black and white and set in the same time period. I immediately went Camille/Sinclair and went to writing.

Augustus heard the soft sniffling of Miss Camille behind him on his shark leather loveseat, even with the record player crooned out an album by Frank Sinatra. This was becoming a regular occurrence now, but he didn’t mind in the least: if it meant Camille would trust and depend on him more, that was fine with him. Life was easier when Fontaine only fired her, but now he’s dead and Camille was taking it hard.

He poured a generous serving of whiskey into the crystal tumblers. “Ice, darlin’?” He called back to her.

“N-No,” She hiccupped, sniffing hard. He heard her blow her nose into a tissue before reaching for another from the tissue box sitting on the glass coffee table.

He picked up the tumblers and walked over to the distraught woman, handing her a tumbler which she quickly took a big gulp, grimacing as it burned going down. “Easy there, darlin’.”

She sniffed and frowned deeper. “I can’t help it.”

“Ol’ Franky doesn’t deserve these tears. I know you liked him a lot, but he did leave you out to dry,” He gently rationalized.

The woman just looked so beaten, it nearly broke his heart. Fontaine had told him that he never mixed business with pleasure, but making a woman cry just didn’t sit well with him. Firing her like that was definitely strange.

She took another drink of her whiskey – a much smaller one this time. She was silent, listening to the music and letting a ghost of a smile show. “Fontaine took me out to dinner once and we had a conversation about Frank Sinatra. I was talking about his music, while he brought up that Sinatra had ties to the mob.”

Sinclair chuckled. “That was the rumor. Honestly, the man’s a tickin’ time bomb.”

“Did you know him?” Camille seemed genuinely curious.

“Not personally, no. I was meetin’ up with a client of my law firm… What was his name? Axel! Axel Stordahl. I was meetin’ up with him for a dinner to discuss the terms of a settlement after his mother passed away. Sad business, but Sinatra was recordin’ that day so I got to watch from the recordin’ area for a bit before I had’a leave. This was shortly before I came to Rapture.”

Camille smiled more brightly at that. “I can’t imagine seeing Frank Sinatra in the recording studio. It must have been wonderful.”

He only shrugged, taking a few sips of his whiskey. Camille finished the last of her whiskey and the smile disappeared again. “Oh, what’s the frown for?” Sinclair asked, placing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in for a squeeze.

“I just realized, I’ve never had a conversation like this with Fontaine. He usually knows nothing about the subject or it quickly turns toward the bad elements, like Sinatra being affiliated with the mob.” Sinclair calmly reached over and took the glass from her hand.

“Why don’t I get you a refill? Whiskey? Or something else?”

“Gin and tonic maybe?” She asked.

Sinclair smiled and got a clean crystal glass from the wet bar’s storage, aware that she was walking up to him. “You’ve always been there for me, Augustus. Why are you so good to me?”

Sinclair turned to face her. “Because, darlin’, despite popular belief, I do in fact have a heart an’ leavin’ you alone while you grieve was not how my momma raised me. So here I am.” He turned back to the bar and continued making her drink.

“…Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

He nearly dropped the bottle of gin. He smiled, tucked the bottle into the crook of his arm and took her chin between his thumb and pointer before quietly saying, “You don’t want a kiss from me.”

The frown that crossed her face almost broke his heart. Baby blues flashed momentarily to a dark shade of blue before returning to Camille’s iris color.

“Yes I do.”

He shook his head again and set down the glass and bottle. “Darlin’, you’re grievin’. You were attached to Fontaine, maybe even had feelin’s for him which is none of my business. On top of that, you’ve had a decent amount of alcohol. Now if I wasn’t such a gentleman, I would definitely kiss you, but I know you’d regret it tomorrow. It would make me feel guiltier than a serial killer.” The frown got deeper and her bottom lip started to quiver. “Oh, oh, no, none of that now. You don’t want to shed tears for me either.”

“Why am I not good enough?” She choked out.

Sinclair sighed and drew her in for a hug, placing a small kiss on her forehead.

They both jumped at the sound of a sharp knocking on Sinclair’s front door. “Well, who could that be at this time of night?” Sinclair wondered aloud. He was surprised to see two of Sullivan’s goons at his door. “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

“An employee of yers says she’s got no’fing to do wit’ Atlas and is askin’ fer ya. Says you can clear t’ings up fer her.”

Sinclair’s heart dropped into his stomach. Jamie… “I’ll be right with you.” He turned to Camille. “Camille, darlin’, I’m sorry to cut this short, but I’ve gotta run.”

“Employee of yours? Who?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He leaned in and whispered so the two men couldn’t hear, “I need to get there before she ends up dead.” Camille inhaled sharply before nodding. “I’m sure one of these fine gentlemen could escort you home.”

“It’s fine. I can make it myself,” She reassured, smiling weakly.

“Stay safe, Miss Camille. I’m sorry.” With that he rushed out the door, following the two men to where Sullivan was torturing the woman who inadvertently made him reject Camille.

Camille was sure to lock the door behind her, obsessively wondering who Sinclair could be so concerned about.


End file.
